


Tedi

by Purah



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I LOVE THEM PLS HELP??, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29981253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purah/pseuds/Purah
Summary: Dylan falls ill one night, and Alistair helps him through it.TW: Mentions of vomitingHuman and country names used(Tedi is a Welsh word btw don't come after me for a misspelling)
Relationships: Scotland & Wales (Hetalia)
Kudos: 8





	Tedi

**Author's Note:**

> Please help me I love these two dorks so much *squeee*  
> *rolls around on the floor* I LOVE THEM i wanna hug both of themm

Dylan slowly awoke, feeling like utter shit. He didn't think that he had a hangover since he didn't drink at all last night...did he?  
He blinked up at the ceiling once, twice, before realising that he had woken up earlier than his alarm. A quick glance at the clock, and yep, much much earlier than his alarm.

Dylan lay there, puzzled over why he was woken now. Definitely not for a late night - or early morning - piss, not a nightmare, not a lack of water or hunger.  
A slight chill running up his spine served as a warning that he ignored, thinking it was just a lack of covers and that he needed an extra blanket. His new red pyjamas were quite warm, but apparently didn't protect as well against the cold.

Sighing, the Welsh nation threw off the covers and climbed out of bed, the movement making his headache ten times worse, and he pressed a hand to his forehead while groaning. He stood on unsteady legs, crossing the room to grab a soft blue blanket that was draped over his desk chair. Unfortunately, in the dark, Dylan's foot caught on the edge of his rug and he tripped, muttering various curses in Welsh when his hand scraped rather painfully against a corner.  
His headache was currently making him regret his existence, though many things accomplished that frequently. Like his brothers, for example.

Dylan pushed himself off the floor with much more effort than it should have taken, snatching the blanket with an irritated and pained expression. Another chill ran up his spine again, but once again, Dylan ignored it.

Just as he tossed the blanket on the bed, his stomach gave a violent lurch and that's when Dylan bolted out of his room to the bathroom, not caring if the door was open or closed.

\--

Alistair was just getting comfortable in bed when he heard a large thump come from Dylan's room, which was right next to his. He lifted his head and frowned at the wall separating them, like somehow Dylan should be able to just magically feel his irritated but mostly concerned look.

Nothing happened for a few moments, so Scotland relaxed again, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.

Of course, right at that moment, hasty footsteps ran from Dylan's room to the bathroom and Alistair was up in less than a second. The sudden change in equilibrium caused him to stumble on his way to the door, and the redhead banged his foot on the wall, drawing an excessive list of colourful curses from Scotland.

Alistair yanked open the door to his room - quietly, of course, but still quickly - and snuck over to the bathroom. Absently, he wondered if there was a word for rapid tip toeing.

"Dylan?" He called out softly, standing just outside the open door. There was no reply from his younger brother, except for a short gasp and the toilet flushing. A minute passed, but Dylan didn't emerge.

"Dylan, are you okay?" Alistair tried again, and this time was met with a weak, raspy response.

"I-I'm fine."

Scotland wanted to scoff. His brothers were all shit at lying, it seemed to run in the family. Along with their eyebrows and wild hair. "Are you at least decent?" He asked, not wanting to walk in on his brother if he was half naked.

A pause. "Yes?" Came the hesitant and confused reply.

Alistair stuck his head around the corner and nearly gagged at the scent of vomit, it had only been a whiff in the hall so he was not prepared for this. Dylan was sitting on the floor in front of the toilet, pale as a ghost - save for his cheeks, which were flushed bright red - and trembling like a newborn calf. He looked up at Alistair with glassy green eyes, his brown hair plastered to his forehead from sweat.

Scotland quickly entered the bathroom, kneeling down next to Dylan and placing a hand on his forehead, wincing at the heat radiating from the sick nation.

"Do you think you can make it back to your room?" Alistair asked, and just as Dylan opened his mouth to reply, a strong shudder shook the poor brunette and he suddenly leaned forward to dry heave into the toilet. Alistair rubbed his back in slow circles, trying to comfort the younger nation as tears rolled down his flushed cheeks.

Several minutes of non-stop dry heaving later, Dylan collapsed against Alistair, his strength completely spent.

"I h-hate bein- being sick," Dylan stuttered between gasps of air.

"I know, lad," Alistair spoke softly. "Can I help you back to your room, or are you going to be sick again?"

Dylan shook his head a little, and followed it with a small "not gon' be sick". Alistair nodded, and gently lifted Dylan into his arms. It wasn't terribly difficult; Dylan and Arthur were relatively the same height and both were quite light. Both were also often teased, and close friends like France or America liked to pick them up when hugging them.

Alistair carefully made his way to Dylan's room, making sure to switch the bathroom light off, and laid his younger brother on the bed.  
After Scotland finished tucking Wales in, he quietly walked to the kitchen and made a glass of water, making sure to grab two tums and two ibuprofens.  
Dylan accepted the water gratefully, drinking about half the glass before Alistair took it, saying that he was going to make himself sick again.

"Were you feeling sick yesterday?" Alistair questioned, and Dylan looked thoughtful.

"Not that I remember, aside from a small headache."

Alistair gave Dylan the Tums, which the brunette accepted gladly, and rushed out of the room, claiming he forgot something and would be right back.

\--

Dylan sat up in bed, hands resting on the covers as he waited for Alistair to return.  
Honestly, he hated being sick, but it was rare to get this much affection from Alistair, so he tried to make it last.

Thankfully, the Tums helped settle the nausea that was sitting in the back of his throat and he was barely trembling now.

Wales jumped in surprise when Alistair suddenly appeared at the doorway, clutching something small and bright red to his chest. The redhead held it out for Dylan to take, and he accepted it with a small frown.

It was a small red bear with the Welsh flag embroidered onto its chest, and Dylan felt himself smile the biggest smile he's ever had in his life.  
He looked up at Alistair happily, and the latter just looked away and huffed.

"I happened to see that when I was out the other day, so I thought you might like it," He explained, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. Dylan held the bear tightly in one hand and hugged Alistair with his other.

"Thank you, Ali, he's adorable," Dylan booped the small bear's nose, giggling softly. "I think I'll name him Brân."

"Doesn't he have a name on his tag though?"

Dylan blinked, glancing at the tag in surprise. "His name is Wales then, I suppose."

As Dylan lay back down, holding Wales close to him, Alistair ruffled his messy brown hair affectionately.

"Get some sleep, alright? If you need help, just wake me up."

After a nod and a yawn from Dylan, Alistair closed the door and walked over to his own room, sighing happily when he flopped onto his own bed and curled up under the blanket.

He wasn't woken once, and during breakfast, Dylan still held the small bear and was 'teaching' it Welsh by pointing out things and saying the Welsh word for it. Arthur looked concerned when Dylan just said 'brecwast' and 'selsig', while Seamus snorted.

"But if it's a Welsh bear, doesn't it already know Welsh?" Alistair pointed out, and Dylan flushed in embarrassment.

"He likes it when I speak Welsh for him since he can't speak."

Everyone just accepted it, even grumpy old man Arthur, and if Alistair caught Dylan saying something affectionate in Welsh to his bear on camera...well...

No one had evidence. Except him, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations done by me
> 
> Brecwast: Breakfast  
> Selsig: Sausages


End file.
